Not Broken
by DizzyDrea
Summary: He'd known all along that he didn't belong here, on this world. He wasn't sure he'd be any better off going with these strangers, but he felt more connected to them—to her—than he did anyone else he'd met.


Title: Not Broken  
Author: DizzyDrea  
Summary: He'd known all along that he didn't belong here, on this world. He wasn't sure he'd be any better off going with these strangers, but he felt more connected to them—to her—than he did anyone else he'd met.  
Rating: T  
Spoilers: Fallen/Homecoming  
Author's Notes: I love the Goo Goo Dolls, and their song Notbroken always makes me cry. And it always makes me think of Daniel Jackson. This is definitely D/S, so be warned.  
Disclaimer: Stargate and all its particulars is the property of MGM, Gekko, Double Secret, Acme Shark and a lot of other people who aren't me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Arrom slipped quietly out the back of the tent. He'd listened to—Jim? John?—tell him about a man he didn't know. And Samantha—she'd talked like he was this amazing, altruistic hero. How could he possibly live up to that?

He walked along the deserted streets, heading away from the encampment, hoping to put some space between himself and those people. He needed to think. And he couldn't do it with them around.

The thing he'd found most confusing was the way Samantha had spoken of him. Or rather of this man called Daniel Jackson. Her voice rang with admiration and respect. She'd been so passionate, trying to convince him that he had it within him to be this other man.

He doubted that.

He'd asked her if they'd meant more to each other than friends. She'd said no.

He doubted that, too.

His feet scuffed along the path as his thoughts swirled through his mind. He'd lived among these people for two moons, and in that time, they'd welcomed him openly. But he'd known from the beginning that he didn't belong. And yet he wasn't sure he believed that he belonged with these newcomers either.

He rounded a bend in the path and wandered towards the small river that ran nearby. The sound of its waters leaping rocks and threading around fallen trees had always been soothing to him, and he found that he needed that solace right now.

But as he rounded the bend, he stopped dead in his tracks. There, on the bank, seated on a rock, sat the blonde woman. Samantha. She was staring into the distance, and so hadn't seen him approach. He debated whether he should just backtrack and go someplace else, but something propelled him forward.

He stepped up behind her and inhaled deeply. Her scent was fresh, like fruit and something sweet. It stirred something within him; it was familiar, somehow.

"I don't believe you," he said, startling her.

"Daniel!" she exclaimed, a hand fluttering to her chest. "I didn't hear you come up."

"Sorry," he said, smiling. He wasn't, not really. He was enjoying the flush on her cheeks too much to be sorry.

"You don't believe me?" she asked, remembering what he'd said. "Trust me, you really are Doctor Daniel Jackson."

"Oh, I believe that," he said, causing her to frown. "Or at least, I believe that I used to be him."

"Then I don't see what the problem is," she said, rising to face him. "Come back with me. Let me show you who you are."

"And what if I can't be him anymore?" he asked, challenge in his voice. "What if I've changed too much to be the man you say I once was?"

"The fact that you're arguing with me right now suggests that my Daniel Jackson is still in there somewhere," she said.

He took in the confident smile, as well as the words. _My Daniel Jackson._

"How can you be so sure?" he asked. "What am I to you that you're so sure?"

She stood staring at him, and he saw it again: something flashed through her eyes, the same something he saw in the tent. If only he knew what that was.

"We're friends," she said, her eyes darting away from his.

He crossed his arms in over his chest. "I don't believe you."

Her eyes snapped back to his. Now he saw panic. Fear. He wished he knew why.

"We're friends, Daniel," she said, insistent now. "You were—we're friends. Really good friends, but just friends."

He narrowed his eyes at her. She'd been about to tell him something; something significant about himself, but she'd held back. Perhaps he'd been on the right track after all.

He had no idea what any of these people were to him. They all kept repeating the same mantra: we're friends. And they believed it, too. They spoke well of him, all of them, and while he wasn't sure he could be the person they described anymore, he'd begun to feel the pull within him, the connection to this group of people. He felt a sense of belonging when he was with them that he hadn't felt in two moons on this world.

He stepped closer to her. "There's something in your eyes when you talk about me. What is it?"

She looked away, toward the water dancing in the stream bed. He could see her warring with herself, as if by admitting to whatever it was, she would be admitting defeat of a sort. He hoped she could overcome her reluctance. He really needed to know everything possible about these people before he chose whether or not to return with them.

Finally, she sighed. She turned back to him, but didn't look him in the eyes. "I don't want to influence your decision, Daniel. You need to choose whether or not to come back to Earth for yourself, without any interference from us."

She made to walk away, but he captured her arm, drawing her closer to him. "I feel like I know these people—your people—like there's something familiar about them. But you… it's different with you. I don't understand why or how. I need you to help me understand, Samantha."

"Daniel," she whispered, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

He gasped at the depth of emotion swimming in her beautiful blue orbs. She lifted her hand, caressing his cheek lightly. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, he could see tears pooling in her eyes. He reached up, wiping away the lone tear tracking down her cheek. Then, ever so slowly, he leaned in, brushing his lips over hers.

He could feel the heat blooming in his chest, knew how right it felt to have done that. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes again and saw it all so clearly: the longing, the need, and it echoed in his own heart. This was what had been missing, the piece she hadn't wanted to share with him. Did that mean that he didn't feel the same way? Clearly not, since he could now identify the same emotions in his own heart that were reflected in her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't want to influence you," she said, shaking her head. "If you're going to come home, I wanted it to be because you want to get your life back, not because you feel obligated to me. We're not—we really are just friends."

"But we could be so much more," he said. He tilted his head. "Couldn't we?"

"I don't know, Daniel," she said, nibbling on her lower lip. "There's a lot you don't know. You may think that now, but when you remember…"

"I know how I feel," he said with conviction. "I can't imagine that changing if I remember who I am."

"_When_ you remember," she insisted. "You're going to remember who you are."

"I hope so," he said. He smiled gently. "And when I do, I'll also still remember this moment. After that happens, will you let me remind you, too?"

She searched his eyes, and he met her gaze, allowing her time to see what she needed to see. She must have found what she was looking for, because she gave him a small, tremulous smile.

"Okay, Daniel," she said. "But I'm not going to hold you to that. We're friends, and I'm okay with that. Our relationship's not broken; we can still be friends after you get back."

"Fair enough," he said.

He didn't want to push too hard. He hadn't even been certain himself what he wanted to do, until just a moment ago. But now he knew.

He'd known all along that he didn't belong here, on this world. He wasn't sure he'd be any better off going with these strangers, but he felt more connected to them—to her—than he did anyone else he'd met. And while he felt that he owed Shamda for offering him shelter and companionship, he couldn't stay here forever.

He stepped back from Samantha, bowing his head slightly. "You will excuse me, then."

"Of course," she said. She made an effort to smile at him; he returned the smile as he turned and headed back to his tent.

He still wasn't convinced that he could be the man they claimed he was. There was still that lingering sense that he'd failed at something, and this was his penance, here with these people. But if he was ever to find his place in this world; if he was ever to rediscover who he was, he knew what he needed to do.

His feet carried him along the path, and he quickened his pace, reaching the back of his tent in short order. Once inside, he surveyed his meager belongings. There wasn't much he wanted to take with him; he hadn't owned most of it for long. All of what he had had been given to him when he'd first arrived.

He quickly decided to leave the tent, rugs and pillows for Shamda's people. He had a feeling the people from Earth would provide all that he'd need, and he knew that Shamda's people needed them more. He'd also leave the candles, even though he'd made them himself. There were too many, and they were too bulky for him to carry in the small bag he'd pulled out.

Which left his clothing. He'd take it because it was familiar, and because he had no idea what would await him on the other side of the chappa'ai. He'd rather be prepared than not. He hastily packed the clothes in the bag, not wanting to waste one single moment.

With that accomplished, he moved to the opening of his tent, turning to survey the space one last time. It would be his last time in this tent, his home for the last two moons. He found himself missing it already. It—and this planet—was all he'd known in his life. He found himself nervous to be leaving with these strangers he'd only just met. And yet, he knew them—he understood that now—and they were eager for him to return with them. As nervous as he was, he could feel excitement building.

He could hear his—well, he supposed they were his friends, speaking outside. The tall one, the former Jaffa, was speaking, and Arrom heard clearly what he was saying.

"What of Daniel Jackson?"

He stepped through the tent opening into the daylight. "He's going home."

Daniel's friends turned to him, joy showing on each of their faces. In that moment, he knew that no matter what happened next, he'd made the right choice. Their friendships had remained strong, despite the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, dead to them. That, at least, was something for him to hold on to.

He knew the coming days would be difficult, but now, for the first time in many days, he had hope.

~Finis


End file.
